Antiques and Antiquities
-A Side Story by Anie
A first-shot one-shot, waiting for your approval.
Disclaimer: Like countless others, I don't own Alias.
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Antiques and Antiquities
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
As I child I was fascinated with anything with a history. The
new never interested me. Over and over again, I would beg my
grandmother to recall the history of a certain broach or the
heavy, mahogany desk in our den. I collected old things; bottlecaps,
buttons, anything with a former life. I detested new toys, and
preferred garage sale knock-offs to the latest fashion trend.
Antiques became my passion. I would drive two hundred miles to a garage
sale that might possibly be selling a certain piece I desired. It
was my goal to track down complete sets of Blue Willow china.
My true mission in life was to bring new life back to things
once glorified.
I opened up a shoppe in L.A. I called my shoppe Antiques and Antiquities.
It wasn't original, and it wasn't real classic. But it was mine.
Through that store, I could spread my love of antiques; my love of the past.
I recall many customers who entered my shoppe. The young woman
searching for a set of dishes for her mother-an anniversary
present. The older gentlemen who asked for a certain table
he heard I might have-his grandmother's writing desk. A young
man who was not searching for anything in particular, but
simply looking for a gift for his girl.
"May I help you, sir?" I questioned. He glanced up at my voice.
Hesitating, he pursed his lips.
"I'm looking for a Christmas gift," he finally explained. I
nodded.
"For whom?" He hesitated again. I wondered about this young man.
"A friend of mine."
"Male or female?"
"Female."
"Young or old?"
"Young." I felt as if I was prying the answers out of him. All
I could think of were those 'good-cop, bad-cop' cliches I always
saw on T.V. Shaking those thoughts out of my head, I led him
around the store.
"Since I do not know your friend, I can not help you find a gift
for her. But I will relate to you the history behind the items
in my shoppe," I said. "It may help you to decide. This way," I ordered.
I showed to him a vase that had lived during the Victorian era.
No good.
I regaled to him the story of a gorgeous glass figurine set.
It had belonged to a young invalid girl, who longed to travel.
Her father, an army man, had sent her these glass figurines of
Indian elephants.
Not quite what he was looking for.
Neither was the teakettle that had once belonged to a former L.A.
mayor.
Or the graceful corner cabinet once owned by a starlet.
Or even the antique rocker whose history I could not trace.
I very nearly gave up on him until he spotted a darling picture
frame.
"What about that?" he asked. I perked up when I realized just
which frame he was speaking of. I may be over eighty, but
the history behind that frame would be enough to perk up anyone.
"That silver frame there is very special," I confided. "It
has a very tragic history. From what its former owner
told me, it had been her great-aunt's. This said
ancestor was named Liliana Price. She was the daughter of
a successful business man in Boston. When she was eighteen,
she fell in love with one of her father's employees, a young
man by the name of Gregory Thorton. After just a year, the
two were wed to be married.
"An unfortunate accident befell Thorton just hours before
the wedding. Driving to the church, he was struck by an
out-of-control driver and was killed on impact. Liliana
was crushed. Overnight her hair changed from sable brown
to pure white. She spent weeks locked up in her room.
"Her mother, hoping to cheer her daughter, brought her
Gregory's wedding gift. Liliana opened it, to
find this very picture frame." I grinned wildly,
enjoying this. "Half-crazed with grief, Liliana declared
that she could see Gregory's face staring at her
from the picture frame. Fearing for their daughter's
sanity, the Prices admitted her into an asylum.
Three years later she died of an accidental drug overdose.
"The picture frame was packed away and sent to Liliana's
younger sister, who lived in L.A., along with a few
of Liliana's other personal items. Her sister,
Georgia, refused to put up the picture frame, swearing
it would bring about Liliana and Gregory's ghosts.
This superstition was passed down through the
next two generations. The woman who brought it in
was terrified of its history. Fearing she would
go insane like her great-aunt, she brought it in
to me. It's been in the shoppe for two years," I
sighed. "No one wants to buy it." I gazed sadly
at the beautiful frame.
"I do," the man said after a short silence. I smiled
at him.
"Wonderful. Come, I will ring up the bill."
Ten minutes later I watched as the young man left the
shoppe. I recall the strong, sure strokes of his
signature on the cheque he handed to me.
Michael Vaughn, was his name.
I hope his girl liked her present.
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Author's Notes
Thanks for reading. I simply had to put a past to that frame.
It needed one. It begged for one. So I supplied. Short, I
know, but to the point, I hope.
-A Side Story by Anie
A first-shot one-shot, waiting for your approval.
Disclaimer: Like countless others, I don't own Alias.
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Antiques and Antiquities
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
As I child I was fascinated with anything with a history. The
new never interested me. Over and over again, I would beg my
grandmother to recall the history of a certain broach or the
heavy, mahogany desk in our den. I collected old things; bottlecaps,
buttons, anything with a former life. I detested new toys, and
preferred garage sale knock-offs to the latest fashion trend.
Antiques became my passion. I would drive two hundred miles to a garage
sale that might possibly be selling a certain piece I desired. It
was my goal to track down complete sets of Blue Willow china.
My true mission in life was to bring new life back to things
once glorified.
I opened up a shoppe in L.A. I called my shoppe Antiques and Antiquities.
It wasn't original, and it wasn't real classic. But it was mine.
Through that store, I could spread my love of antiques; my love of the past.
I recall many customers who entered my shoppe. The young woman
searching for a set of dishes for her mother-an anniversary
present. The older gentlemen who asked for a certain table
he heard I might have-his grandmother's writing desk. A young
man who was not searching for anything in particular, but
simply looking for a gift for his girl.
"May I help you, sir?" I questioned. He glanced up at my voice.
Hesitating, he pursed his lips.
"I'm looking for a Christmas gift," he finally explained. I
nodded.
"For whom?" He hesitated again. I wondered about this young man.
"A friend of mine."
"Male or female?"
"Female."
"Young or old?"
"Young." I felt as if I was prying the answers out of him. All
I could think of were those 'good-cop, bad-cop' cliches I always
saw on T.V. Shaking those thoughts out of my head, I led him
around the store.
"Since I do not know your friend, I can not help you find a gift
for her. But I will relate to you the history behind the items
in my shoppe," I said. "It may help you to decide. This way," I ordered.
I showed to him a vase that had lived during the Victorian era.
No good.
I regaled to him the story of a gorgeous glass figurine set.
It had belonged to a young invalid girl, who longed to travel.
Her father, an army man, had sent her these glass figurines of
Indian elephants.
Not quite what he was looking for.
Neither was the teakettle that had once belonged to a former L.A.
mayor.
Or the graceful corner cabinet once owned by a starlet.
Or even the antique rocker whose history I could not trace.
I very nearly gave up on him until he spotted a darling picture
frame.
"What about that?" he asked. I perked up when I realized just
which frame he was speaking of. I may be over eighty, but
the history behind that frame would be enough to perk up anyone.
"That silver frame there is very special," I confided. "It
has a very tragic history. From what its former owner
told me, it had been her great-aunt's. This said
ancestor was named Liliana Price. She was the daughter of
a successful business man in Boston. When she was eighteen,
she fell in love with one of her father's employees, a young
man by the name of Gregory Thorton. After just a year, the
two were wed to be married.
"An unfortunate accident befell Thorton just hours before
the wedding. Driving to the church, he was struck by an
out-of-control driver and was killed on impact. Liliana
was crushed. Overnight her hair changed from sable brown
to pure white. She spent weeks locked up in her room.
"Her mother, hoping to cheer her daughter, brought her
Gregory's wedding gift. Liliana opened it, to
find this very picture frame." I grinned wildly,
enjoying this. "Half-crazed with grief, Liliana declared
that she could see Gregory's face staring at her
from the picture frame. Fearing for their daughter's
sanity, the Prices admitted her into an asylum.
Three years later she died of an accidental drug overdose.
"The picture frame was packed away and sent to Liliana's
younger sister, who lived in L.A., along with a few
of Liliana's other personal items. Her sister,
Georgia, refused to put up the picture frame, swearing
it would bring about Liliana and Gregory's ghosts.
This superstition was passed down through the
next two generations. The woman who brought it in
was terrified of its history. Fearing she would
go insane like her great-aunt, she brought it in
to me. It's been in the shoppe for two years," I
sighed. "No one wants to buy it." I gazed sadly
at the beautiful frame.
"I do," the man said after a short silence. I smiled
at him.
"Wonderful. Come, I will ring up the bill."
Ten minutes later I watched as the young man left the
shoppe. I recall the strong, sure strokes of his
signature on the cheque he handed to me.
Michael Vaughn, was his name.
I hope his girl liked her present.
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Author's Notes
Thanks for reading. I simply had to put a past to that frame.
It needed one. It begged for one. So I supplied. Short, I
know, but to the point, I hope.